


A Helping Hand

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Broken Bones, Caretaking, M/M, Masturbation, Piss, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Jack shouldn't have climbed up that step ladder.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I've never had a broken arm before, so some of this is horribly wrong. I took some artistic license for the sake of plot.

As far as Jack was concerned, this was, at least a little bit Mark's fault.

It wasn't Mark's fault that Jack had wanted to play that really old system, because Mark wasn't really responsible for the whims of Jack's brain.

And okay, it wasn't Mark's fault that his step ladder was a little bit out of shape - Mark didn't like heights much, and tried not to go to his higher shelves if he could help it.

But Mark could have at least... well, he could have said something, as Jack made his way up the ladder, something other than "this is going to go badly," because the guy jinxed it.

He _totally_ jinxed it!

Because Jack was a man of dignity and grace, and not one who was known for falling off of things willy nilly. 

... okay, so maybe Jack was a little bit touchy.

Falling off of a step ladder and pulling a whole shelf on top of you could do that to a guy. 

Go figure, huh?

So there had been a good deal of screaming, and more than a little bit of things falling on Jack, including what turned out to be an old, disused toolbox, which had resulted in the kind of blinding, white hot pain that made Jack kind of want to die.

He was being remarkably calm about all of this, wasn't he?

Remarkably calm, although someone was screaming. 

Oh.

That was him.

How about that?

And he was in an ambulance now, and Mark was next to him, and Mark was making soothing noises at him, or maybe he was saying something - Jack wasn't really paying attention, because aforementioned screaming. 

And then there was an IV in some part of his body that he wasn't paying attention to, because one of his arms was bending at an angle, like a horseshoe, his elbow pointing in the wrong direction, and the other one was... well.

He didn't want to think about it, honestly. 

So he didn't.

"It's going to be okay," said Mark, and his voice seemed to be coming from a long way off.

Mark's floppy hair was flopping into his face, and Jack wanted to push Mark's hair out of his face, but his arms were kind of consumed with white hot pain, and one of the paramedics had strapped him to some kind of splint on either side.

It was all a bit of a blur, honestly; one minute he was screaming on the floor of Mark's garage, the next he was in the ambulance with Mark holding on to his ankle.

Huh.

"It's funny how things turn out," he tried to tell Mark, only it came out as a bit of a mess; the painkillers seemed to be taking over.

That was probably why he could form words in the first place, come to think of it. 

Mark gave him a wan smile, although his whole face was drawn, and he looked anxious.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Mark was talking to one of the EMTs at that point.

Jack missed the rest of it - he'd fallen asleep (or possibly passed out), and everything just... continued to happen around him.

* * *

Jack woke up in the hospital.

He was going to have surgery, they told him.

That was exciting.

Had he ever had surgery?

Fucked if he remembered right now.

At least he had decent insurance - since moving to this country, that had been t he main thing that tripped him up.

But now he was being informed that they were going to be doing surgery, and he was being asked about allergies.

He mumbled something about his weird painkiller allergy, and then he was aware that he was more or less naked - he was in a hospital gown, and when had that happened?

That was something to think about.

There were a lot of things to think about, actually, and Jack was drowsy, almost loopy, following the thoughts that were like rabbits scattering in front of him. 

"I'll be here when you come out," said Mark, his face serious, still drawn, still looking tight.

"Not ready for that," Jack mumbled, and he was snickering. 

Mark rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, just a bit.

"You're such a weirdo," he told Jack.

"'s'part of my brand," Jack mumbled, and then he yawned.

He was on a bed that was moving, he realized, and now the bed _was_ moving, being pushed by an orderly, or maybe a doctor.

Someone of the hospital breed, if that was a breed.

What if they bred doctors the way you bred dogs, like sheepdogs?

Was there an alternate dimension where dogs bred humans to take care of them?

Jack sighed, and then he was being put on a big table, and it was clearly an operating theater.

He tried to ignore the anxiety that was bubbling up in his throat, as a woman in a white mask looked down at him.

"Okay," she said, and she was holding a mask, "I want you to count backwards from ten for me, alright?"

"Right," said Jack, and he was counting in his head.

Everything went dark when he hit seven.

* * * 

Jack woke up on a hospital bed, both of his arms in casts, his whole body aching and his actual self somewhere to the left.

Mark was asleep in the chair next to him, his head on the bed, his stupid floppy hair over his face.

Mark's face was in the blankets, and he was clutching at them, as a little piece of his hair was pushed up and down by his breathing.

Jack looked at him, and some sort of... something welled up in his chest.

Something like tenderness.

He hadn't expected Mark to wait up for him like this, hadn't expected Mark to sit next to the bed, let alone to fall asleep on the bed like this.

Jack was aware of his own heartbeat, was aware of his eyes moving in his skull, was aware of a whole bunch of things.

It was a bit like trying to move through jello.

Really thick jello.

"Do they make thick jello?"

Jack's voice was coming from far off, but Mark jerked awake, looking wide eyed at Jack.

Then Jack's words seemed to catch up with him.

"Wait, what?"

"Jello. Do they make thick jello?"

"Um," said Mark. "I feel like, if you put stuff _in_ the jello, it might be really thick?"

"That's a you thing," Jack mumbled. "Your cultural whatsit."

"Listen," said Mark, "just because I'm from the Midwest doesn't mean that I partake in that particular cultural tradition. That's slander."

"s'not slander if it's true," Jack said, and he snickered.

"Have you ever seen me actually eat a jello salad?"

There was a faintly desperate edge to Mark's voice, as if he was trying very hard not to start crying, or possibly have some kind of other feeling all over Jack.

Jack could appreciate it.

He wasn't _too_ bad at dealing with other people's feelings (it kind of came with the territory) but this wasn't really the time or the place for it.

"I haven't seen you eat a jello salad," Jack said, "but just because I haven't seen it doesn't mean it hasn't happened."

"I think you're thinking of Utah," said Mark. "My people are the kings of the casserole."

"Casserole king," Jack said. "You should get that on a shirt."

"I'm not the casserole king," said Mark, then; "how are you feeling?"

He sounded nervous now.

Jack attempted to shrug, and found that both of his arms were pretty much immobilized, which made the action a bit difficult. 

"I've been better," Jack said, "but I've also been worse."

"I'm sorry," Mark said, and yeah, there were his feelings, coming out of his face.

"Why are you sorry?"

Jack was blinking at him sleepily.

"I feel like - no, I _know_ \- this was my fault," Mark said, and his voice was soft.

"Hey," said Jack, "it's okay."

Was it okay?

It wasn't as if he was actually _mad_ at Mark, per se. 

He was feeling some kind of something, but it was all happening far enough away that he wasn't going to worry about it right now, because... well, it was all happening over there, and why did he need to worry about what was happening over there, when he was all the way over here?

"Are you sure?"

Mark was looking at him, his expression nervous.

"I mean," said Mark, "that was sort of a whole series of events that we couldn't have seen coming."

"I should have checked that ladder," Mark said.

"Since when are ladders a thing that you need to check, I ask you," Jack mumbled. "They're just ladders. They lad."

Mark snorted.

"And you couldn't have known that the shelf would come down. Although why'd you have that old toolbox up there?"

"We almost never use it," said Mark. "I mean... well, I say "we," but I mean me. I've got the one that I use for computer repairs and small house stuff, but that one is for the big stuff."

"The big stuff?"

"Yeah. Like if I need to fix my sink or something."

"You fix your own sink?"

"... I like to try," said Mark. "I've made it work a few times, before I called the plumber."

Jack snorted.

"You're lucky you don't have, like, roommates," he said, aware that he was slurring, just a bit. "Because... because roommates are bad for pipes."

"I bet they are," said Mark. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

His hand found Jack's ankle under the thin hospital blanket, and he squeezed it.

Jack sighed, and he relaxed back into the bed, still riding the high of the painkillers.

The last thing he saw, before he fell asleep again, was Mark's slightly worried expression. 

* * *

Jack didn't have to have any more surgery, thankfully.

They were apparently both very clean breaks, although one of Jack's arms was always going to be a little bit shorter. 

Minimal nerve damage, and they would probably heal well with good physical therapy, which Jack would thankfully be able to afford.

There was a little patch of blood on the elbow of one cast, and it was in the shape of a duck. 

Mark sat in on the doctor’s appointment with Jack, at Jack’s behest.

There was something a little bit scary about this, something surreal.

He was apparently going to make a full recovery - he was young and strong, it wasn’t like he had a job where he had to do heavy lifting, or worry about much beyond repetitive strain injuries.

“I’m going to have to jury rig my computer,” Jack said, looking down at his arms, which were out flat in front of him, the heavy cast resting on his upper thighs.

He couldn’t bend his right arm at all, and had extremely limited mobility on his left one.

“I can help you with that,” said Mark. “Or you could just do console games for a while.”

The doctor made polite noises, but she told Jack he could be discharged as soon as he thought he was able.

“Do you have anyone you could stay with, or could help you?”

The doctor was looking at Jack, and then she was looking at Mark with an expression that could best be described as “diplomatic.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Mark said quickly. 

“You will?”

Jack looked sidelong at Mark, one eyebrow up.

“I mean,” said Mark, “if that’s okay. I figure, uh… since we’re the, uh, since we know each other pretty well, and you used to stay with me when you didn’t live in the US, it might be simpler that way?”

“Right,” said Jack. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

How did he feel about the fact that Mark had just… decided, without consulting him?

He wasn’t sure. 

But he’d deal with that later.

“I need you to fill out some paperwork,” said the doctor. “And I’ve got prescriptions to give you, and a few things that might help.”

“Right,” said Jack. “Thanks.”

This seemed to be going pretty fast, although these sorts of things tended to go by quickly, didn’t they?

Or maybe all of the medications he was on were doing interesting things to his sense of time. 

Mark glanced over at Jack, and his expression was anxious. 

“Sorry,” said Mark.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” said Jack. “It’s fine.”

He was grinding his teeth, just a bit.

Was he getting mad?

If he was, it was coming from a long way off. 

“I know, I just -”

“I know you feel responsible,” Jack snapped. “You don’t have to keep looking at me like I’m going to yell at you!”

… he was yelling at Mark.

Shit.

“Sorry,” Jack said, and he reached up to rub his face… only to find that he couldn’t bend one arm, and could barely bend the other, and he couldn’t get his hands to his face.

Welp.

“What do you need?”

Mark’s expression was thoughtful, and Jack swallowed down his annoyance.

“Can you put my hair behind my ear, please?”

“Right,” said Mark, and he did so.

His fingers were gentle.

The doctor kept watching, wearing that expression you get when you watch people have an intimate fight in front of you. 

“You’re going to need to help him with almost everything,” said the doctor, in a tone of voice that could be described as “portentous,” if someone was feeling like using a ten dollar word. “It will help if you have someone to switch out in shifts.”

“I should be okay,” said Mark. 

“I’ll be fine,” Jack agreed.

The doctor rounded on Jack, and she was giving him a Look.

“You are to rest,” she told him. “Rest your arms, rest your _self_ , concentrate on healing.”

“Can I -”

“I’ll have someone come to talk about all of the things that you can or can’t do,” said the doctor. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” said Jack, “I think I’m good.”

Right.

So that was sorted. 

Okay.

* * *

Jack was discharged. 

… they gave him a scrub shirt, since his actual shirt was cut off of him, which was a pity, because he’d really loved that shirt. 

Oh well. 

There was an awkward moment, when he was getting out of the hospital gown, and realized that he was going to need help putting on his boxers.

Welp. 

This was going to be awkward. 

“Um,” said Jack, to Mark’s back.

“What’s up?”

Mark didn’t turn around, at least.

“I need help,” Jack said. 

“What kinda help?”

“I can’t put my pants on,” Jack said. “Well, uh, I can’t put on my boxers. I can’t put my pants on either, though.”

“You want me to help with that?”

“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble,” said Jack.

He was licking his lips, and he was blushing.

“Of course not,” said Mark, and he turned around, to find… Jack naked, holding on to a pair of boxer shorts, which were right in front of him.

… he looked like a zombie in a traditional horror movie, or maybe Frankenstein’s monster. 

“Well,” said Mark, “this is awkward.”

And then he was laughing, and Jack was laughing, because this was all just so _ridiculous_ , and how could he not laugh.

“Sit on the bed,” said Mark, “and I can help you, okay?”

“Okay,” said Jack, and he sat down carefully.

He did a lot of things carefully - he hadn’t realized just how much he used his arms, until they were fully out of commission.

He sighed, a long, almost sad sound, and Mark looked at him, concerned.

“You feeling okay?”

“Mark, I’m nearly thirty and I can’t put on my own underwear,” Jack said. 

Mark shrugged.

“There are worse things,” he said, and then he was slipping Jack’s boxers over Jack’s foot, then Jack’s other foot, sliding them up Jack’s legs. 

“You think?”

“I mean, you’re kinda incapacitated for a while,” said Mark, “but I’m here to help you. And even if I wasn’t, well… you’ll have your arms back eventually, and then you can go back to putting your own pants on.”

Jack snorted in spite of himself, and he stood up carefully, let Mark pull his pants up his legs, to rest on his waist. 

“Okay,” said Mark. “Jeans now, okay?”

“Right,” said Jack.

There was something almost… surreal about this - seeing Mark kneeling down in front of him.

_If only the fans could see us now,_ he thought, and the thought made him snort a bit in spite of himself.

A certain subset of them would probably just pass the fuck out. 

It had been a while since he’d seen someone in this position, admittedly.

… nope, now was not the time or the place.

He resisted the urge to reach out and pat the top of Mark’s head - he just stepped into the leg of his pants, carefully.

“Maybe you should start wearing yoga pants or joggers for a while,” said Mark, as he pulled Jack’s pants all the way up, then zipped them, buttoned them.

Jack frowned - his pants felt stiff, almost itchy. 

There were a few dark stains on the legs.

“What happened?”

“The hospital washed them,” said Mark. “They were, uh… kinda bloody.”

“Oh,” said Jack. “Right.”

He hadn’t bled _that_ much, but there was a new hole in the knee, and he had stitches where he’d split his shin open.

“You gonna be okay?”

Mark’s expression was concerned.

“What? Yeah, I should be, why?”

“You’re, uh, you’re going a little pale,” said Mark.

“Oh,” said Jack, and he sat down heavily. “So I am. Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Jack shrugged.

“Being awkward, I suppose,” he said.

“Jack,” Mark said, “you broke both of your arms because my step ladder broke under you and you pulled my shelf down on top of you.”

“Well, yes,” said Jack, “but I feel like I need to apologize for pulling down a shelf in your garage.”

“We’ll end up reaching an apology singularity,” said Mark. 

“I mean,” said Jack, “you did mention that you’re from the midwest. That’s a thing that happens there, isn’t it?”

“It is, now that I think about it,” said Mark, and he looked amused in spite of himself.

“So how about we both forgive each other for all those transgressions and get on with our lives.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Mark. “Do you want me to help you with your socks?”

“Socks?”

“To be blunt,” said Mark, “if you can’t put on your boxers, you probably won’t be able to put your socks on either.”

“... you’re right,” said Jack. “Thanks.’

“Of course,” said Mark, and he was digging through the hospital bag, pulling out Jack’s socks.

He sat on the floor in front of Jack, and he held a sock open, carefully guiding it onto Jack’s foot.

Jack wriggled his toes, and Mark carefully arranged the sock, so that the heel was in the right place.

“I should probably invest in a good pair of slippers,” Jack said. “I’m gonna look like a proper grandpa, shuffling around in joggers and slippers.”

“We could get you some bunny slippers,” Mark suggested.

Jack snorted, as Mark put his other sock on. 

There was something calming about this - he hadn’t been taken care of like this since he was a very small child, and it was almost… humbling.

He hoped that Mark wasn’t doing it out of some kind of guilt… thing, though, because then Jack would go down his _own_ guilt spiral, and then they’d probably reach the aforementioned guilt singularity, and nobody needed that. 

“So,” said Mark. “I was thinking I could stay with you for a bit. If you don’t mind Chica staying as well?”

“Why would I mind Chica staying? She’s come to visit before.”

“Well, yeah, but she’s come to visit. Not to actually stay. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t have anything especially delicate around the place,” said Jack. “It should be nice.”

“Okay,” said Mark.”I mean, if you’re sure.”

“Mark,” said Jack, “I’m not gonna ask you to leave your dog behind, when you’re already going out of your way to help me.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Jack said firmly.

“Alright,” said Mark.

He was tying Jack’s shoe, then sliding Jack’s other shoe on, tying that one. 

“So… I figured I’d stay with you for a bit, until you’d gotten some stuff sorted out,” said Mark. “And I can help you with stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“You know. Cooking, cleaning, getting dressed. Stuff like that.”

“Right,” said Jack. “If you don’t mind.”

Mark shrugged.

“I’ve been meaning to take a break,” he said. 

“You think of taking care of me as a break?”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t have to be… on for you,” said Mark. “I’ve got some stuff stored as a backup anyway.”

“If you’re sure,” said Jack.

“I’m sure,” Mark said, his tone firm. “I wouldn’t have agreed to do it, if I wasn’t sure.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” said Jack.

“Good,” said Mark,with a note of finality.

“You’re a stubborn cunt, aren’t you?”

Mark let out a bark of laughter, and it seemed to startle him as much as it startled Jack - he ended up landing flat on his butt, staring up at Jack.

“I am, somewhat,” Mark said.

Jack snorted.

“We’ll be okay,” he assured Mark. “I promise.”

He would have grabbed for Mark’s hand, if he had use of his hands, but… no dice.

He pressed the side of his foot against Mark’s leg instead, and Mark smiled at him, his expression faintly embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” Mark said. 

“I thought we said we’d stop apologizing,” Jack complained.

“I mean, we did,” said Mark. “But… shut up. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“Shall we go?”

“Let us.”

* * *

Jack checked out of the hospital. 

There were the standard forms, and it was taking practice, to write his name when he couldn’t bend his elbows.

There was some jury rigging involved. 

They drove back to Jack’s house.

Well, first they stopped by Mark’s house, so Mark could pick up his own stuff, and his dog.

Jack sat in the car, leaning back into his seat, letting his eyes drift shut.

He was still loopy with painkillers, although the pain of his arms was on the very end of his consciousness, like smoke on the horizon.

Smoke was something he’d had to get used to when he’d moved here - Ireland didn’t burn the way California did.

Too soggy.

Although if someone tried to set fire to Ireland, there probably would be a lot of smoke, what with all of the sogginess, since wet wood resulted in a lot of smoke.

Barring burning the stubble, although Jack had never actually seen that before - his dad had told him about it, but that had been outlawed by the time Jack was a kid.

Peat made some really smokey fires as well, but then again, peat wasn’t exactly known for being super dry, was it?

He’d been to a peat bog once, on a school trip - they’d seen an old fashioned peat fire. 

There had been a piebald pony that he’d petted, and he’d gotten a chance to milk a cow.

… why Jack’s mind was going down _that_ particular path, he didn’t know, but at least he wasn’t paying attention to the pain in his arms, right? 

The door opened, and then a cold, wet nose was being shoved into Jack’s cheek.

Jack jumped, looking over his shoulder, and Chica was panting at him, her expression soft, her tail wagging. 

“Hi,” said Jack.

“Hello,” said Mark.

“Where’d you get your car, anyway,” said Jack. “I thought you were with me at the hospital the whole time.”

“I went home to shower and get a change of clothes,” said Mark. 

“Oh,” said Jack. 

Now that he thought about it, Mark _was_ wearing a different shirt.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Do you ask me any other kind?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jack said, not without affection.

Mark opened the driver’s side door, climbed into the passenger seat. 

“So what’s your weird question?”

“Did you ever go to, like, a historical recreation site?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… a place where you can go milk a cow, stuff like that,” said Jack.

“Oh, yeah,” said Mark. “We had a few of those. My parents also took me to colonial Virginia once, as a vacation.”

“What was that like?”

“As a not white person? Kinda weird.” 

"I hadn't thought of it from that angle," said Jack, sheepish.

Mark grinned at him, and started the car back up.

"It was still fun," he told Jack, then; "can I ask you a weird question?"

"What's up?"

The throbbing was beginning to climb - Jack was going to need to take a pain pill soon, judging by the way the pain was beginning to flash in his vision, like some kind of especially unpleasant rave.

"What's it like, living in a new country?"

Jack blinked, trying to sort out his thoughts amidst the pain. 

"Well," he said, after a minute or so, "I'd have to say that it's complicated."

"Is it?"

"Like... I keep meeting people who say that they're Irish, but they're _not_ , because they're born here."

"Well, yeah," said Mark, "but... y'know, it's more complicated than that."

"Is it?"

Jack must have been trying to distract himself - usually, he didn't try to pursue these types of conversations, since they were... fraught, to say the least. 

"Because, okay," said Mark. "Most people in the US want to be _from_ somewhere. Being American isn't enough, for a whole host of reasons."

"Like what?"

Jack was beginning to drowse - it turned out being in intense amounts of pain could take it out of a person.

Who knew!

"Well," said Mark, "part of it is, uh, is the way that in the old days, when people moved from the old country to here, you were expected to kind of... assimilate."

"You will be assimilated?"

Jack put on his best Borg voice.

Mark snickered.

"Something like that, yeah," he said. 

"So you're saying that the whole Borg plot on Star Trek was actually a critique on imperialism?"

Mark gave Jack an appraising look.

"Not to be judgmental, but you're not usually this deep," he told Jack. 

Jack snorted. 

"It's the painkillers," he told Mark. "They turn off my filter."

"I think a lot of folks would be surprised to find out you have a filter," said Mark. 

"I have a lot of things people don't expect," Jack said, and he waggled his eyebrows, more for the look of it than anything else. 

Mark burst out laughing, and he was still laughing as they merged into traffic.

* * * 

Jack hit a problem pretty much as soon as he got home.

"... Mark," said Jack, "I need to take a shower."

"You smell like hospital," Mark agreed.

"I... Mark, I can't bend my elbows."

Jack was beginning to panic, just a bit.

"You can bend one elbow," said Mark.

"I can't wash my arse if I can only bend one elbow," said Jack.

"I can help you," said Mark.

"What, wash my arse?"

"You'd do the same for me," Mark pointed out.

... would he?

Jack wasn't sure he'd wash the butt of any of his friends, unless it was really dire straits. 

No, he'd have done it.

For Mark, he'd have done it.

Although that was leading down certain roads that he wasn't sure he could deal with at this particular juncture.

He sighed, and he brought his arms closer together - if he'd had full use of his arms, he would have rubbed them together.

Then again, if he had full use of his hands, he wouldn't be in this particular pickle, would he?

"I'll make it up to you," Jack said.

"Make what up to you?"

"All of this. All that you're doing."

"I mean," Mark said, "it's not like it's really putting me out. I've been needing to take a break from doing videos for a while anyway."

"So you're gonna wipe my arse and make me dinner instead?"

"Like I said," said Mark, "I don't have to be on for that. I just have to do it. And I like to spend time with you. I feel like we haven't had much time to just... y'know, hang, since you moved here."

"Yeah," said Jack. 

He'd been busy.

"Although," Mark said, "we should probably film a video explaining stuff, now that I think about it."

"You tweeted some, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Mark, "from my account and from yours."

"Right," said Jack. "How about we film tomorrow? I want to stop smelling like hospital."

"How about I give you a... crap. I don't know what to call it."

"Hm?"

"It's... I know it as a whore's bath, or a Jersey shower."

"You mean, like, a sponge bath?"

"Don't call it that," Mark said, and he was beginning to giggle a bit in spite of himself. "When you put it like that, all I can think of are those dumb pornos with the nurses in the tiny latex dresses -"

"Do you watch a lot of those, then?"

And instead of snarking back, Mark actually _flushed_.

"I've seen a few," Mark mumbled, then rubbed his own hands together. "So, uh, I can help you wash off, then you can sleep some, while you're sleeping I'll go out and get groceries." 

"Sounds like a plan," said Jack, and he yawned, wider than he meant to. "Fuck I'm tired."

"It's almost like breaking _both of your arms_ can exhaust you," said Mark.

"Yeah, yeah," said Jack, making an awkward dismissive gesture with his hands.

Mark snorted, and he made his way towards Jack's bathroom. 

* * *

Getting undressed by Mark was weird.

There was more of that strange, intense intimacy, and for some reason, Jack's cock was beginning to stir. 

Not enough to be really... noticeable, not enough to have an actual erection, and it could be dismissed by the fact that it was chilly in the bathroom, but still. 

Were intimacy boners a thing?

Mark was tender, as he pulled off Jack's shoes, then Jack's socks, Jack's jeans and boxers.

Jack's shirt took a bit more work, but they got there eventually, and then Jack was standing there in the middle of his own bathroom, completely naked, as Mark wet a washcloth. 

"Right," said Mark. "So I'm gonna sit you on the edge of the toilet seat, and then I can wash your various bits, then you can dry off, put on some pajamas, and you can take another pill."

"You've been keeping track of my pills, then?"

Jack's tone was teasing, as he carefully sat down on the toilet seat.

It was cold against his bare ass, and his balls were drawing up towards his body.

"The nurse at the hospital told me to," Mark said, but he seemed to be blushing again. 

... was Jack imagining things, or were Mark's hands shaking, just a bit?

Jack blushed as well now, and he was licking his lips.

There was... something in the air between them, something that was hard for him to put his finger on, except that it was there, and it seemed to be getting thicker.

"Right," said Jack.

"When you're doing better," Mark added, "you can start keeping track of stuff yourself. I've got everything written down, so I can track it."

"Right," said Jack. 

"But for now, uh... yeah," said Mark.

The washcloth was warm and damp, as it made its way over Jack's chest, carefully. 

"Right," Jack said, and he swallowed, his throat clicking, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Do you want me to wash your hair as well?"

"Can you do that, without getting my cast wet?"

"I can wash it in the sink," said Mark. "Although," he added, "probably in the sink in the kitchen, not the sink here." 

"Right," said Jack.

His bathroom sink was piddlingly small, come to think of it - he could barely wash his own bathing suit in it, let alone fit his head in it. 

"When I was a kid," Mark added, as he began to move the washcloth across Jack's chest, "my mom used to wash her hair in the sink."

"Any particular reason why?"

"She didn't like the water pressure in our shower," said Mark, and then he was just... lifting Jack's arm up, carefully, soaping under Jack's armpit.

Jack was trying not to blush too hard, because... well.

Being manipulated like this - like some kind of little kid - was weird and terrifying, and it was making his heart beat desperately in his throat and in his ears.

"You're as hairy as you said you were," said Mark. 

"Don't you mean as I said I am? Since I'm not dead," Jack said. "Or should I say this isn't a past tense thing?"

"... what?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Jack groused. "I'm on painkillers. What more do you want from my life."

"I suppose it'd be too much to ask you to be anything approaching coherent when you were on pain medication," said Mark, his tone philosophical. "You're barely coherent when you're stone cold sober."

Jack lifted up one arm, awkwardly, and he gave Mark the finger.

Mark cackled.

"If you don't want to keep washing your hair like that," Mark added, "I can get you some dry shampoo?"

"I should give you my debit card," Jack said. "For groceries."

"Please," Mark snorted. "It's not like that's gonna put me out."

"Well, it's not gonna put _me_ out either," Jack countered. "Let me do it, for my own state of mind."

"So is that a "yes" for dry shampoo?"

"Nah," said Jack. "You can wash my hair. It's fine."

"Thanks," said Mark, and he squeezed Jack's shoulder. "I appreciate it."

Mark's hand was as hot as a brand, and Jack blushed harder, unsure why.

* * *

They kept up their friendly conversation, things more or less normal, until Mark crouched down in front of Jack's legs.

"Okay," he said, and he looked like he was steeling himself. "I'm going to wash your, uh... your cock now."

"You don't have to," Jack said quickly. "I mean, like... I don't think I need it."

"You're still going to smell like hospital," Mark pointed out, and okay, Jack couldn't really argue with that.

"Well, yeah," said Jack. "But... only if you're comfortable."

"You'd do the same for me," Mark said, and then he was bringing the washcloth up, to begin to gentle wash along Jack's shaft.

Jack was soft, thankfully. 

They were very quiet, although Mark was thorough, at least. 

Then Jack cleared his throat.

"Um," he said.

"What's up?"

Mark withdrew his hand very quickly.

"I've, uh... you need to get... you need to get under the foreskin," Jack said.

He was blushing.

God, this was fucking embarrassing.

"Oh," said Mark. "Um. I'm not sure... I've never had to do that before."

"Right," said Jack. "Okay. So, uh... you, uh... you take the shaft between two fingers, and then you... yeah. Like that."

That was... well, that was certainly a thing that was happening.

It felt weird as fuck, but then again, having someone else do something like this for you was always a weird sensation, wasn't it?

At least Jack's junk was pretty clean, all things considered. 

"If you get up, I can wash your butt as well," Mark said, when he'd finished.

"Right," said Jack. "Just... gimme a hand up?"

"Of course," said Mark, and then he was helping Jack stand up.

The washcloth was gentle and very warm against Jack's ass, and then one of Mark's hands were holding Jack's ass open, and Jack was curling his toes into his bathmat, biting his lip and blushing so hard that his head was starting to throb. 

Oh fuck.

The washcloth was exceedingly gentle as it washed between his cheeks, along his hole.

Then he was clean. 

He hadn't felt this clean in a long time.

Not that he didn't normally wash himself like this! Far from it, no - he was a clean person, for the most part.

It was just... someone else doing it made it seem that much _more_. 

“There we go,” Mark said, his voice quiet. “You’re all clean now. You shouldn’t smell like hospital anymore.”

“That’s good,” Jack said. 

His voice was equally quiet.

“Where are your pajamas?”

“Under my pillow,” said Jack.

“What, really?”

Mark sounded surprised.

“Is that such a weird thing?”

Jack yawned, and then he winced - the pain was beginning to creep back full force now, like mist rolling in from the bay, and he was beginning to flag.

“No,” said Mark. “I just… wasn’t aware it was a thing that people did in real life. I thought it was just a thing that was done in movies.”

“Well, they had to get it from somewhere, didn’t they,” said Jack.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Mark, and he gave a self deprecating laugh. “I’m just a dummy.”

"You're not a dummy," said Jack, and then he yawned, widely enough that his jaw cracked. "I'm just tired, man."

"You're in pain," Mark corrected, and then he was going off to do... something.

Jack wasn't sure, except that he was off someplace in his own head, and then he was being handed a pill and a glass of water.

He took them, and he let Mark help him into his pajama pants, tired enough to not even think about the fact that he wasn't actually wearing any underwear, just flopped onto his bed (carefully), and let the darkness close over him.

* * * 

Jack woke up at some unknown hour, his head full of dark sleep, needing to pee.

Desperately needing to pee.

_Fuck_.

He stood up, carefully, and he made his way towards the bathroom. 

Only for the pain to wash over him.

He staggered, nearly tripped, and then he was in his bathroom, and... he couldn't take his dick out.

He was realizing this - he couldn't pee like this.

The fact that he could pee while sitting down just... didn't enter his mind, and he was panicking.

"Mark!"

Jack's voice cracked, just a bit.

Silence, then the sound of a door opening, and then feet pounding on the floor.

"Jack?"

Mark was panting, standing in the doorway of Jack's bathroom, looking stricken. 

"... sorry," Jack said, and his voice cracked.

"Hey," said Mark, and he was... crowding in, wrapping his arms around Jack's middle, his forehead against Jack's, his hands on Jack's hips. "Hey. It's okay. Breathe."

This was the way a lover was held, not a friend, but Jack was still panicking, and the panicking was almost - _almost_ \- morphing into arousal. 

His heart was in his throat, beating in his ears, and it was getting hard to think in a straight line. 

"I need to pee," Jack said, and his voice cracked. "I'm sorry, I -"

"Do you need me to help?"

Mark didn't sound angry or grossed out or anything, which was... well, it was unexpected, to say the least.

"Yeah," said Jack, although now he was realizing that he could just sit down.

But Mark was... coming up behind him, Mark was putting hands on his hips, pushing down his pants, and Mark's hand was on Jack's cock, Mark's other hand was on Jack's hip.

"Okay," Mark said, his voice in Jack's ear, and Jack was shivering, "you're... you just need to let go."

"Right," Jack said, his mouth dry.

Mark had an erection.

Mark had an erection, pressed against his ass, and Mark's breath was warm and almost ticklish against Jack's neck. 

It had been a long time since someone had touched Jack like this.

He was breaking out in goosebumps, his cock beginning to get hard, and Mark was... hm.

"You can't pee if you're hard like that," said Mark. 

His voice was very quiet.

"Sorry," Jack said. 

Everything had a slightly dreamlike quality, but he was clear headed otherwise - his senses didn't feel clouded, and everything was more or less normal.

Apart from the fact that his best friend was holding on to his dick. 

"Do you want me to take care of it?"

Mark was offering it as if that was just... a thing to do.

As if he was offering to scratch an itchy part of Jack's back, or to get something off of a high shelf for Jack, instead of _literally jerking Jack off_.

"I mean -"

"I'm sorry," said Mark, and he made to let go, but Jack pressed Mark's hand against his side, using the heaviness of his cast.

"Why are you offering it?"

Jack's voice was very quiet.

"Well," said Mark, and his cheek was very warm against Jack's, "I, uh... I have a bit of a kink for... for taking care of people. But I also... I might have a bit of a crush on you."

Jack made an amused noise.

"So this is like a dream come true for you?"

"I mean, I don't like you being hurt," said Mark. "I don't want you to be in pain."

"Right," said Jack. 

"But it's... I'd be lying if I said that I didn't find certain... aspects of this appealing," said Mark.

He sounded legitimately ashamed, and Jack's heart was aching for him.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Jack's voice was quiet.

"What? Yeah, I'll be fine," said Mark. "I shouldn't have just dumped this on you. I've been inappropriate."

This was a weird conversation to have while Mark was holding on to Jack's dick, which was still hard - it was getting harder, if anything.

Well.

It was pulsing in Mark's hands - Mark's hands, which were rough with calluses, the palms broad and warm. 

Jack's cock was throbbing like a broken tooth, and Jack tooth a deep breath, trying not to think too hard about how much he wanted Mark to... what?

Jerk him off?

Walk away?

Some combination thereof?

No, that wouldn't work.

He was overthinking this.

Okay.

"I'm not bothered," said Jack. 

"Do you want me to stop?"

Mark's voice was shaking, just a little bit.

"No," said Jack. "If you want to... I mean, I won't turn down a hand job."

"And if you want to pee, you need to be able to pee," agreed Mark, and his hand was already beginning to move over Jack's cock.

Jack's toes were curling into his bath mat, and he was shaking, beginning to pant, just a bit.

This wasn't the first time that Jack had been jerked off by a friend, or by a guy - or even by a guy friend - but it was still... it was something.

It was definitely the first time he'd been jerked off by Mark.

Mark, in turn, was jerking Jack off carefully, almost nervously.

"Sorry," Mark said, and he was nuzzling into Jack's neck.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I've, uh, I've never played with a dick that had a foreskin before," said Mark. "I'm worried about, uh, hurting you."

"You're not going to hurt me," Jack assured Mark, and then he moaned, as Mark did something particularly tricky with his wrist, which made Jack's hips roll forward. " _Fuck_!"

"Like that?"

Mark's breath was heavy, right in Jack's ear, and Jack's mouth was falling open, his eyes sliding shut.

"Yeah," Jack said, leaning heavily into Mark. "Yeah, just like that."

"Good," said Mark.

Jack's cock was leaking pre-cum, drooling down the shaft, and it was slick under Mark's fingers, and Jack was beginning to shake, his knees going weak.

"You're so hot," Mark said, right in Jack's ear. "Under my hand, I mean. I can feel your cock heating up, and it's swelling."

"It is, isn't it?"

Jack's voice was rough. 

"You want it so badly, don't you?"

"I do," Jack said.

"You want me to make you cum? You want me to take care of you?"

"Yeah," Jack said, although he suspected some of this dirty talk was more for Mark's benefit than for Jack's.

"I'll take such good care of you," Mark said. "I'll make you cum, I'll feed you, I'll bathe you, I'll help you do anything you need to do, I'll take care of you, fuck...."

Jack groaned, and his whole face was turning red, his hips beginning to jerk forward, his cock twitching and swelling in Mark's grip.

Mark gave him a squeeze, then a long, smooth stroke, and Jack's hips jerked again, a little harder.

"I can feel you throbbing harder," Mark said, and he pressed a dry kiss to the spot under Jack's ear. 

"Yeah?"

Jack's heart was beating in his ears, and Mark's hand was moving faster.

The sound of slick skin on skin was filling the bathroom, and it was still dark in the small room, the curtains blocking out any light from the outside.

"I'm going to come," Jack said, and his voice was coming from a long way off.

"Do it," said Mark, and his own hips were jerking against Jack's own, his cock throbbing against Jack's ass, even through the fabric of Jack's pajama pants, through the fabric of his own pajama pants. "Do it, Jack, come for me, come in my hand, I want to feel it, _please_!"

Jack's orgasm washed over him, and it almost... mingled with the pain, twining around Jack's ankles like a friendly cat, and Jack cried out, his toes curling some more, his mouth falling open and his hips jerking. 

His cock throbbed in Mark's hand, and he heard the wet sound of his cum hitting the water in the toilet, winced as a drop of his semen dripped off of Mark's hand, onto his foot.

"Oh," said Mark, and his voice was rough. "Fuck, Jack...."

And Mark's hand stayed on Jack's cock, as Mark's other hand moved behind Jack, and then Mark realized, with some surprise that Mark was jerking off.

Mark was jerking off, but he was still aiming Jack's cock, and that was unexpected, and then Mark's own orgasm seemed to hit, and that was enough of a shock that Jack started to pee.

He made a surprised noise, and Mark moaned, as he made sure to keep aiming, which was... honestly, pretty impressive.

Did Mark have much experience with this type of thing?

Mark's come was wet against Jack's lower back, where Jack's shirt had ridden up a bit, but Mark was panting into Jack's ear, as the sound of Jack's piss hitting the water filled the room.

"Wow," said Jack, and he sounded faintly stunned.

"Are you alright?"

Mark's voice was full of anxiety.

Jack snickered, then began to laugh, and that seemed to make him pee even harder, a rush of it leaving him, until he was almost wrung out.

"What's so funny?"

"... I could have sat down to pee," Jack said. 

"Would you have preferred to do that?"

Mark definitely sounded nervous now.

"Nah," said Jack. "I just, uh... the ways that these things happen cracks me up sometimes."

"These things?"

Mark was fumbling for the light switch, and then he was blinking in the brightness, trying to get his bearings. 

Mark was grabbing a piece of toilet paper and cleaning up Jack, all business, and Jack wasn't sure if that was more embarrassing than the whole "getting jerked off" thing, or less.

"One minute I'm just agreeing to help you get something from a high shelf, not even forty eight hours later, I've got both my arms broken and you're jerking me off in my bathroom at who even knows what the fuck time it is."

"It's, like, three in the morning," said Mark. "You were really tired."

Then Jack's stomach growled.

"... I probably should have woken you up to eat something, in retrospect," said Mark, and he sounded sheepish.

Jack turned around, to see Mark wiping his own stomach off, looking sheepish. 

"I'm sorry," Mark said, and he looked genuinely regretful, too. 

"Why?"

"I dunno," said Mark. "You're dealing with some genuine misfortune, and here I am getting a boner out of it."

Jack shrugged.

"As long as you didn't orchestrate the whole thing so that I'd be helpless and subject to your whims, I think I'm okay," said Jack. "And I know even you aren't that devious."

"What do you mean, even I'm not that devious?"

"I mean, even you aren't that devious," said Jack.

"When you say it like that, you seem to be implying that I'm sort of devious to begin with," said Mark, and he was pouting.

Jack wanted to kiss him, but, well... was this a kissing sort of situation?

He wasn’t going to push it right now - he was tired, giddy with his orgasm, pain still nibbling on the edges of his mind.

"You should get back to bed," said Mark, and his voice was borderline bossy.

Jack would have found it annoying, if not for the post coital expression on Mark's face - he looked downright dopey, which was enough to make Jack grin a bit in spite of himself.

Mark was such a weirdo. 

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Jack. "Although, uh... if you're getting off to something, I won't be offended, but can you keep me in the loop?"

"... right," said Mark, and he had the good grace to look faintly embarrassed. "Sorry. I'll keep you in the loop. Definitely." 

“Can you maybe tell me some of the stuff you’d… like?”

“Hm?”

Mark was washing his hands, and it was odd, seeing him in Jack’s small bathroom.

“Like… okay,” said Jack, and he shouldn’t have been talking about this right now, as tired as he was, as late as it was, as _weird_ as all of this was.

“Okay?”

“You’re… you’ve got a kink thing about caretaking,” said Jack.

“Right,” said Mark.

“I can’t, like… let you run free reign over me with the kink stuff, but for a few days at least, I’m, uh… I’m gonna be outta commission. If you want to… that is, if you’d enjoy it… I’d be willing to, uh, let you do some kink stuff. At least until I got my bearings. Right now the idea of having to do a lot of stuff by myself is just _exhausting_ , y’know?”

“Right,” said Mark. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Jack, and he yawned. “Night.”

“Night,” said Mark. 

* * *

Jack woke up in the morning with a queasy stomach and a pounding head.

He didn’t want to think about what his arms felt like right now, because there were a whole bunch of adjectives that he didn’t want to try to conceptualize.

He sat up, slowly, carefully, and he blinked at his bedside table.

There was a glass of water, there were his pills, and there was a note from Mark.

_I’m downstairs - call down when you need me._

Jack grinned a bit, bleary. 

There was a straw in the cup, and his pills were on a long spoon, to make it easier for him to take them.

The guy was a thoughtful sonofabitch, huh?

Jack took his pain pills, then stood up carefully, slowly, his legs wobbling and his head swimming.

He made his way towards the kitchen, more out of habit than anything else.

He found Mark standing in the kitchen, stirring oatmeal.

“You’re awake,” said Mark, and he smiled at Jack, a luminous smile.

… Mark was in love with him. Had been for some time, judging by the genuinely heartfelt look he was shooting Mark. 

Shit. 

When had that happened?

Or was Jack just loopy from all of his pain killers?

It was hard to tell at this point.

He sat down slowly, carefully, and he rested his mostly useless arms on the table top.

“So I made oatmeal,” said Mark, “because I figure your stomach might be acting up. I know mine always does when I’ve had surgery.”

“Right,” said Jack, blinking at him.

His head was still swimming.

“Are you okay?”

Mark was looking nervous.

“Yeah,” said Jack. “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.”

“Food,” said Mark, “and then you can chill out.”

“I should try to film an episode,” Jack said.

“Jack,” said Mark, “you have a literal screw in one of your arms to keep your bones together. Don’t argue with me.”

“Why are you in such a mother hen sort of mood?”

“I like taking care of you, like I said,” said Mark, and he looked embarrassed. 

“You’re getting your jollies off on taking care of me? Do you do this to every dude who ends up with some kind of injury?”

Jack meant to be teasing, but Mark’s face fell.

“It’s not just… y’know, any dude. I mean, I like dudes. I like many dudes[. But I don’t… I don’t just want to take care of whoever. I want to do it for you.”

He looked embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” said Jack. “I’m talking outta my arse.”

“You’re talking out of your face, obviously,” said Mark, and there was a bit of relief at that. 

At least Mark was letting Jack save some face (ha), right?

“Can I put some of that oatmeal in my face?”

“How about I do it?”

Mark’s tone was almost… too casual.

“Hm?”

“I think it’d be easier. Y’know, because, uh… you can’t really bend your elbows, and you’ve got the special spoon, but still.” 

“If you want to,” said Jack. 

He was blushing, his face pink.

“I mean,” said Mark, “i don’t… not want to.”

Jack snorted.

“I think we should stop dancing around it,” he told Mark, “and just do it.”

“Just do it?”

“Yeah,” said Jack. “Feed me.”

“You forgot the “Seymour” in there,” said Mark, and he was smirking.

Jack grinned back, and he opened his mouth like a baby bird.

* * *

Mark put too much cinnamon in his oatmeal, and made it with raisins (who ever heard of putting _raisins_ in oatmeal?!) but it was good nonetheless, and he ate it down, because he needed something in his growling stomach.

Mark was looking at Jack with big, bright eyes, and his face was… there was something intense about his face, something that was mildly unsettling, but Jack wasn’t going to complain too hard. 

There was something nice about being looked at like that. 

“How about I set you up on the couch? You can watch a movie, I can wash dishes, sort some stuff out.”

“I should film a video,” Jack said.

“I’ll help you with that,” said Mark. “You can get comfortable, I’ll worry about camera stuff.”

“Maybe we can put on a skit or… something?”

“Something?”

“I dunno. What can I do with my arms all useless like this?”

Jack lifted them up, then flopped them down.

The cast was loud as it clunked down on the table. 

“You can do plenty of things,” said Mark. “We could play cards?”

“... how would I play cards, when my hands are this useless?”

Jack wriggled his fingers.

“I don’t fucking know,” said Mark. “I’m going to take a shower. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Jack, and he grinned. “I’m a big boy.”

He gave an awkward thumbs up, and Mark burst out laughing.

“You look ridiculous,” he told Jack. “Also, if you’re gonna be on camera, you should probably wear a shirt.”

Jack looked down at his own body, and he made a face.

“... you’re not wrong there,” he said. 

* * *

They filmed a video. 

Jack told the story, they joked around about it, Mark made jokes, Jack made jokes.

The whole thing went great!

Jack was exhausted by the end of it, and he would have been embarrassed, if he wasn’t so tired.

“This is turning me into a goddamn slug,” Jack whined, as Mark put away the camera, then came back with a pill and a glass of water with a straw.  
“You’ve hurt yourself,” Mark reminded him. “You need to sleep.”

Jack was shifting his position, trying to get comfortable, and then he sprawled out, his arms supported with pillows, his eyes sliding shut.

There was the sensation of someone leaning over him, and then there was the sensation of a pair of lips pressing against his forehead. 

Huh.

Jack didn’t know what to make of that, so he didn’t respond, just played at being asleep.

This wasn’t going to turn into a whole thing like something out of _Misery_ , would it?

… nah.

Mark was many things, but obsessive wasn’t one of them. 

* * * 

Jack woke up with a headache, his whole body on edge.

He’d been dreaming… something.

Painkillers seemed to give him odd dreams; he’d never really been one for any kind of recreational pharmaceuticals, but the few times he’d indulged, well… he’d been twitchy.

He was still twitchy, but this wasn’t the kind he was used to.

He wasn’t sure whatever this was, but… huh.

He yawned, pressing his face into the couch cushions, and he curled his toes, stretching awkwardly.

He was stiff… in more than one way.

He glared down between his legs, where his cock was swelling, tenting up the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

“Really,” he said. 

“What’s up?”

Mark poked his head around the corner from the kitchen.

Jack could hear Chica shifting from her spot on the kitchen floor, her nails clicking.

“Nothing,” Jack said, and he yawned again. “How long was I out?”

“A decent amount of time,” said Mark. “You need anything?”

“I woke up with a huge boner,” said Jack, and he didn’t know why he said it, but once he’d said it, well… it was out there.

“You want me to do something about it?”

The degree of casualness in Mark’s voice was, frankly, unsettling. 

It was _too_ casual - nobody sounded that casual, unless they were overshooting. 

“Do you wanna do something about it?”

Jack wished he could reach down and give himself a squeeze - the most he could do was bring his heavy wrist down to rest on his thigh .

“I wouldn’t say no,” said Mark, and then he was coming into the living room, leaning down, hi shand on Jack’s inner thigh, beside the cast.

“No?”

“Well, yes, in this case,” said Mark, and he was… getting on his knees, his hands going to the waistband of Jack’s pants.

Jack’s toes curled.

This all seemed to be going very… fast, because what the _fuck_ was going on, but god, Jack hadn’t ever wanted something so much in his life.

Mark pushed down the waistband of Jack’s pants, and then he reached forward, wrapping his hand around Jack’s cock and giving it a squeeze.

“Oh,” Jack said. 

“You must’ve been having some kind of dream,” said Jack. 

“It was, uh… it was a nice dream,” said Jack.

“Do you remember anything from it?”

Another slow, easy stroke, and Jack squirmed, 

“No,” said Jack. 

There was something so embarrassing about this - about lying on his own couch, unable to properly use his arms, as Mark was pressing a kiss to his belly, still holding on to his cock.

He couldn’t do anything - he was completely helpless like this, and Mark could do whatever he wanted. 

“Well,” said Mark. “well.”

“Well?”

And then Mark’s mouth was around Jack’s cock.

There wasn’t really a transition, was there?

One minute, hot breath on the damp head of Jack’s cock, the next, Mark’s hot, wet mouth wrapping around Jack’s shaft.

Jack sighed, and then he sobbed, as Mark’s tongue rasped along the underside of his cock, tracing along the frenulum, and that… was enough to make Jack’s eyes roll back in his head.

Fuck.

How the fuck was Mark so good at this?!

They’d have to have a talk about this… at some point.

A point that wasn’t right now, because Jack couldn’t really _think_ , because Mark was doing… something, who the fuck knew what he was doing, except he was using his _tongue_ , he was doing things with his fingers too, kneading at Jack’s thighs, and Jack was beginning to roll his hips, trying not to force his cock down Mark’s throat, trying not to come right then and there.

Mark was moaning - moaning _loudly_ , and that was a surprise too, because what was Mark getting out of this, why was Mark enjoying himself so much?

The moaning was sending vibrations along Jack’s shaft, and Jack’s useless hands were curling and uncurling, as the sweet pleasure began to blossom at the base of his spine.

He let the sweetness take him over, let himself marvel at the wet heat of Mark’s mouth, at the wonder of being taken care of, at the glory of someone wanting him.

He let Mark swallow him down, as Mark’s wet mouth took him all the way in, until his cock was all the way down Mark’s throat, until he was shaking, and his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks.

He came down Mark’s throat, his hips still jerking forward, his cock twitching in Mark’s mouth, pumping come down Mark’s throat, and Mark was just swallowing it down, then pulling back, looking up at Jack through his eyelashes. 

“Hi,” said Mark. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” said Jack, and he was shaking, just a bit.

“Let me take care of you,” said Mark, and Jack’s stomach twisted, with affection and with something like arousal. 

“I’ll do my best,” said Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com


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